


Couch to 5K

by romanitas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanitas/pseuds/romanitas
Summary: Bellamy won’t stop trying to get Clarke to exercise with him. She’d rather just nap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> because we could all use some happy things this week.
> 
> originally stolen from some au prompt on tumblr that i forgot the original wording but it involved a pair of jogging shorts.

The biggest downside to living with Bellamy so far is his exercise regimen – which isn’t to say it’s a bad thing so much as he keeps trying to get her _involved_. Clarke always knew he worked out, because no one could possibly have arms like he does without some kind of routine, but she gets to know his schedule first hand by virtue of living in the same space. He sleeps in on Saturdays, but gets up early on Sundays to go for a run, and he hits up the gym twice a week in the evenings if he can’t do the same jog while she lounges on the couch and binges Netflix.

“You know you’re a history teacher, right?” she says, absolutely not looking at him while he tugs on his running shoes. “You don’t need to be ripped.”

“I like it. Endorphins and shit.”

“You’re really selling it to me here.”       

“I will one day,” he says, standing up with a stretch, which Clarke absolutely does not watch either no matter how his shirt raises. “Today?”

“Sorry, Bellamy. You know the rules about sweatpants.”

“You can run in sweatpants.”

“Or I can sit on the couch and not run.”

He shakes his head, but he’s grinning a little bit. “Don’t start Stranger Things without me,” he says, giving her a little wave as he slips out the door.

There is a part of Clarke, the smart healthy part of her buried deep down under all the Doritos, that knows joining Bellamy for his runs would be a good start to getting herself in shape. She’s always failed when she tried alone, but none of her other work out buddies worked out; Octavia is even more intense than her brother, and Raven focuses on her arms. Her leg’s paralyzed for the rest of her life, but god if her guns aren’t the most amazing things Clarke has ever seen. All her friends are too hot and too fit. Not that Clarke is disappointed in her own body. She’s pretty confident, and she loves all her curves. But she has a deep understanding for Ann Perkins when it comes to jogging: _I know it keeps you healthy, but god at what cost?_

She burrows into the couch and pulls up an old episode of Futurama while she sketches out the beginnings of her next project and waits for Bellamy to come back; his runs don’t usually go over a half hour, so the timing is nice, and she gets to draw out the stress of her day.

The only time she’s ever slightly inclined to join him is when he comes out in this particular blue pair of shorts. It’s not like they’re anything special; they’re old and worn in, but they’re also way too shapely. She thought it was a problem when Lexa would head out in her snug yoga pants, but it’s like Bellamy’s shorts have molded into the ideal fit. They’re not _tight_ , but they cling and hang with a perfect artistry that he’s totally unaware of. Clarke likes to blatantly and over-the-toply check out Octavia whenever she comes by, just to stop feeling so guilty.

She’s dozing on the couch when Bellamy comes back home, which she thinks is a much better use of her time. She’s conserving energy. It happens a lot, because Clarke loves naps, and the quiet of the house isn’t easily broken, even when Bellamy comes inside. She can always tell it’s him, and she doesn’t stop feeling safe despite the door opening, so catching a few extra minutes works out nicely.

“Lincoln’s gonna be at the gym today,” he tries another time. “You sure you don’t wanna check it out?”

“I’d rather just bond with him over art.”

He hesitates, then sighs. “Yeah, dunno why I even bothered with that one.”

She smiles brightly at him and waves her sketchpad for a goodbye as he walks out the door. He’s been a lot more earnest about getting her to join him, a slow incline since they moved in together. It was subtle at first, but now he asks at least every other time. If it was anything else, Clarke thinks she’d jump right on it, but her physicality is so behind his that there’s no way she’d be able to keep up and she isn’t interested in losing that competition. For one fleeting moment, she considered surprising him and attempting to build up her strength privately, for the sole purpose of running passed him and witnessing the shock on his face – but then, as expected, she dozed off once again on the couch to the dulcet tones of Leslie Knope.

Once the weather turns cooler, she starts waking up from her couch naps with a blanket tossed over her and the sounds of Bellamy showering. She always smiles and always burrows in. This is far better that jogging, endorphins be damned.

Bellamy keeps wearing the shorts. She wants to ask if he’s cold, but then that draws attention to the fact that she’s noticed his shorts, and she will never willingly put herself in that kind of situation. The weird part is how it doesn’t bother him, because as a general rule, Bellamy hates being cold and he hates winter; he has on occasion worn a scarf in early October, and Octavia swears she saw him with one in September once.

“What if I split the run between walking and jogging?”

She tilts her head back and looks at him upside down. “You’re using the j-word again. But also: the sweatpants rule.”

Clarke likes the sweatpants rule, wherein any person who has since coming home put on sweatpants does not need to leave the house for any reasons, save emergencies. Bellamy initially thought it was stupid, but he’s definitely taken advantage of it himself, especially when he doesn’t want to run to the store for milk.

“So what you’re saying is if I catch you before the sweatpants, you’ll go for a run with me.”

She puts her head the correct way, just so she can properly give him a completely unimpressed look. “Bellamy.”

“Clarke,” he says far too lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

In retrospect, she really should have just said no.

She doesn’t notice it at first, because everything is so casual. Her favorite pair of sweatpants go missing, but she assumes she just left them at Raven’s from their last girls’ night. She leaves clothes there literally all the time and keeps forgetting to check every time she stops by again. But another pair goes missing, and then a third, and then somehow she just knows it’s Bellamy’s doing, so when she gets home from work, she slips into his room and steals a pair of his.

He comes home and looks pleased with himself, up until he notices she’s wearing his sweatpants. Bellamy pauses, looks awkward for about half a second, before shifting back into cool and casual and rolling his eyes. At least on the upfront it’s cool and casual, but there’s something very stiff in his posture at the same time that makes Clarke feel smug. “Isn’t that cheating?” he huffs out.

“I dunno. If whatever you’ve done with all mine is cheating, then we’re on the same level.”

He opens his mouth then closes it, caught. “They’re in the wash,” is what he offers, and Clarke wonders if she needs another nap, because she swears it looked like color crawled up his neck and he hadn’t gone for his run yet. Her sweatpants come back the next day, folded neatly.

The timing of his runs shift, slowly. It’s easy to miss because the weather is changing, the days are getting shorter, and Clarke thinks nothing of it beyond he doesn’t want to run in the dark. But he catches her one day, before she manages to change out of her work clothes.

“I’m heading out now. You coming?”

She turns slowly to give him a deadpan, unimpressed look. “I’m heading _in_ now, to take a nap.”

“But you’re not wearing sweatpants.”

“No.”

“Uh, I can see your pants, and they aren’t the sweat kind.”

“They don’t need to be for a nap, it just helps.”

“Try it, Clarke. Just once, and I swear I’ll drop it forever if you hate it.”

“I hate the fact that you’re trying to tear me away from burrowing on the couch under a million blankets.”

“One blanket. If that. You’re the penguin here, not me.” His entire expression is light and teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of nerves there too. She doesn’t even think he’s aware of it, because it’s something quiet she’s only noticed after being around him for so long. It is also, unfortunately, the equivalent of puppy dog eyes for her, because Clarke hates the idea of Bellamy being anxious about anything, even if it’s something stupid like getting her to go on a run. She can’t pinpoint when it started, but she has a compulsive need to reassure him of the best, to do _her_ best to make him smile. Bellamy Blake deserves good things. He’s had enough garbage thrown at him in life already.

She knows, within seconds after noticing that nervous tick in his jaw, that she is going to go on a jog tonight, and it takes everything in her to avoid despair in thought of sore legs.

She does let out one long suffering sigh, which immediately lights up Bellamy’s face, because he knows it means he won. “You realize I’m going to suck at this, right?”

He looks delighted. “We all start slow, Clarke. Go change.”

By the time she comes out, Bellamy’s stretching in the hallway, and she reconsiders her decision because he’s wearing those stupid blue shorts. It’s bad enough just watching him leave the house in them; now she gets to be in his actual company with them. She turns around and does her own stretches, pointedly looking away from him, only realizing belatedly that she’s giving him a view of her own ass and thus decides there is no way she’s coming out of this situation with a win.

They slip outside, and Bellamy’s already far more energetic than she’s used to seeing him on these runs; it is unfortunately contagious, though she does her best to keep her smile toned down. She can’t possibly let him have too much of this victory. She cannot possibly be excited to go for a jog, even considering the company.

True to his word, they start off very slow; it’s more of a walk than a jog, but it’s definitely a power-walk, and Clarke can already feel it stretching muscles she forgot she had. She dropped out of med school years ago, so she thinks it’s fair to forget most of them. She’d rather draw muscles than memorize them.

They’ve only gone about two or three blocks when she starts to complain. “How do you do this every day?”

“Clarke, if we look hard enough, we can still see our house.”

“I warned you I was going to whine the entire time.”

He just laughs, like he wants nothing more. “Come on, let’s try a little faster.”

She lets out an exaggerated groan, but she needs to keep pace with him. She can’t fathom falling behind him and having to concentrate on her breathing as well as not staring at his ass. Bellamy paces them at a slight jog, and Clarke can feel how out of shape she is within about a minute, simply because he looks so at ease and she’s already on the edge of panting. “I could be _napping_ ,” she hisses between breaths.

“And yet here you are.”

“Napping!”

She is definitely going to nap when she gets home, whether he likes it or not. She is going to keep sweatpants in her car so she can change into them before she even walks in the door. Not even Bellamy’s shorts seem worth it right now, with their comfortable couch waiting at home with a side of Netflix.

Some of his amusement fades, and he slows down again, looking her over carefully. “We can stop,” he says, with a forced casualness. “If you don’t – I mean, I like running obviously, and I wanted to try it with you, but I don’t want you to be miserable.”

“You apparently put a lot of effort into it,” she huffs. “I can’t believe you stole my pants.”

“I can’t believe you stole _mine,_ ” he retorts, but he’s not looking at her.

“And they were the perfect nap pants. I should just use them all the time instead of mine.”

Bellamy trips, presumably over his own feet, and it almost startles Clarke into tripping too. He is still determinedly not looking at her, which she notices because she notices everything about Bellamy. It strikes her that it’s very possible wearing his sweatpants does to him what him in those stupid shorts does to her – and it almost makes her trip again, because she doesn’t know what to do with that information. They can’t both be that stupid about it.

Almost like he’s trying to avoid the topic of sweatpants, he backpedals. “Seriously, Clarke, we don’t have to do this. It was – it’s dumb, there are plenty of ways to spend time with you.”

She stops with that just as Bellamy stops short too, because she’s sure in his attempt to avoid the awkwardness over sweatpants, he dropped more information than he intended.

“What I meant was just, uh –”

Softly, she interrupts him; they spend so much time together already, they did even before they moved in together, but the fact that he wants even _more_ time with her is giving her a burst of butterflies – at least, she’s going with butterflies rather than shortness of breath. She doesn’t know why it’s so flattering right now, and yet: “You wanted to spend more time with me?”

He shifts, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. “I just thought it’d be a good excuse. I didn’t want to make it obvious.”

Clarke finds herself smiling, because he’s a goddamn idiot. She punches his arm. “You know you could have just told me that, right? That’s what friends do. They hang out. They don’t coerce friends into going on jogs when there are other and better ways to hang out.”

He’s still looking awkward, and Clarke frowns. “I’m not mad, Bellamy.”

“I know.”

“So then what’s up?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Probably, but we know I’ll only judge you on the _really_ stupid stuff.”

He gives her a look, the kind of look that he gets when he’s about to throw himself headfirst into the deep-end, not caring if he needs to kick himself out or find a lifeguard. He looks like he’s about to risk drowning, and Clarke already wants to throw in a tube and he hasn’t even spoken yet. “I was hoping it’d end up being something we could do as – more than friends.”

“Oh,” is what she responds, in a stunning display of articulation. Her heart thuds a few times, and she chooses to, again, believe Bellamy is the cause rather than her own lack of athleticism.

Bellamy hastens to brush it off at her apparent lackluster response. “Sorry, I – can we just forget I said anything? You can go back to napping, I can go back to jogging, and we can go back to normal.”

She reaches for his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers even as she squeezes them. “I’m offended if you think something like would ruin our normalcy.”

He’s still tense, but he spares her a glance that edges on hopeful. “So you’ll forget about it?”

Clarke smiles at him. “Why would I want to?”

And then she tugs him down to kiss him. He makes a sound of surprise, but his response is pleased and eager against her mouth. She hasn’t wanted to be home on the couch more during this entire outdoors escapade than right now, exerting herself in far more exciting ways than _running._

When Bellamy pulls back, she frowns at him disappointed; she’s breathing hard again, this time for acceptable reasons, but Bellamy just smiles at her and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can see the appeal of the couch now.”

She laughs, nearly overflowing with warmth because even now they’re on the same wavelength. “It’s calling our names, Bellamy. Can we go home now?”

“I guess I can cut it short, but just for today.”

“I’m flattered. But I’m telling you, the couch is great. That’s how we should spend all our time together now.”

“But then I wouldn’t be _ripped_ anymore. Or even need these shorts,” he says, with a teasing smile. Of course he didn’t forget what she said, and of course he noticed her checking him out. She really shouldn’t be surprised – they always notice these things about each other, embarrassing moments and all.

She wrinkles her nose, glancing down at the blue shorts with appreciation. “Fair point. Fine, you can run, but no more trying to get me to join you. Deal?”

“Trust me, Clarke, I don’t need to anymore. I got everything I wanted.”

Clarke kisses him again after that, because how could she not? Then she tugs on his arm, pulling him back towards home and feeling like she could run the whole way.


End file.
